Prelude's Aftermath
by Shan Jeniah
Summary: This story occurs in 3O chapters in 30 gdays, as my Story A Day September challenge. The title comes from the fact that this story is the follow-up to my as-yet unshared Trip/T'Pol Origin Story ("On Any Tuesday Night"). Trip has gotten into trouble, and presumably lost his chance to be the Chief Engineer of NX-01. He's taken an incognito job as a menial laborer in the Engine Room.
1. The Scent of a (Vulcan) Woman

Trip Tucker looked back and forth down the curved corridor, then ducked back into the engine room and went to the equipment bay. He stowed the tools he'd used, saving the welding mask for last, and making sure he had an NX-01 baseball cap handy to thunk down over hair he'd let grow out from Starfleet regs. He didn't wash it as often as he'd like, either, since the grime of the work tended to make it darker.

He couldn't do much about the color of his eyes except work so many damned hours that they were always shadowed.

He looked over at the shiny new warp engine housing half built over the dormant engine, and sighed, curling his hand into a fist to keep from walking over there to stroke it.

He didn't have the authorization to do that. He was just a menial laborer; one of the guys who welded what he was told, fastened the screws, and swabbed the deck plating a hell of a lot more often than he wanted to.

He hated every second of it – but at least he was here, with the engine that ought to have been his, except for those damned accusations.

"Hey, buddy, get this area cleared. Top brass is coming through in ten minutes with the Vulcan delegation, and any grunt caught loitering is likely to get shoved out the airlock for good."

"Gotcha, sir." No point telling the ensign he was actually Commander Charles Tucker the Third, Captain Archer's best friend and only choice to be the Chief Engineer – well, until that night he'd not-quite-met the woman who'd taken over his dreams, and his whole world had fallen apart.

Instead he kept his head down, and got the hell out of there. He didn't want to see Ambassador Soval and his delegation, anyway. There was only one Vulcan he was interested in seeing, and the chances she was one of that delegation were about as good as him figuring out who the hell had taken out those five men and getting his name cleared and his dream job back.

But that didn't mean he had to leave the engine room altogether. He'd been studying the schematics since Jon first gave them to him, and he knew a couple dozen places he could hide out. He'd picked three, and rotated between them, letting Jon think he was with Natalie, and not letting on at all that it had all gone way south with her that same night he'd met Miss Pointed Ears Under That Cowl.

Well, he might not be the Chief Engineer anymore, but he could tuck himself in under the housing, where no one, even a Vulcan, would know he was here. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was something.

And maybe, if he was lucky, he would dream of her again tonight. 

* * *

"I expected Captain Archer to be present for this tour." Ambassador Soval's voice was measured, but T'Pol detected the suggestion of disapproval in it.

"He had to go to Brazil on urgent business. He sends his regards." The human designated as Admiral Forrest replied. His scent intensified, and she wondered if there was some significance.

T'Pol walked behind Soval and T'San, concentrating harder than she should need to on maintaining a calm bearing. It was advantageous that she was behind the senior members of the delegation. Perhaps they would pay her no attention, and Soval, who was strongly attuned to such matters, wouldn't notice her agitation.

If he did, perhaps she could attribute it to the strong human scent. Most members of the diplomatic staff were issued nasal numbing agents when among humans, but she had been required to substitute for Merel at short notice when he was taken ill. There had been only time for reviewing the protocols.

They entered the area of interest, where the Warp Five engine was located. T'Pol had studied the schematics, and, though it would be unwise to state her opinion, found it impressive. The space seemed equally so, with an efficient and visually appealing design -

One scent rose up so swiftly she was forced to repress the urge to gasp. No one was attending to her; Admiral Forrest was speaking on the engine's specifications.

T'Pol dared to lift her head, turn toward the section of engine casement where the scent originated, and flick out her tongue to taste the air.

It was him. Here. On this ship.

Could he see her? Would it please him to do so?

Trip waited it out, surrounded by greasy linkages that were good for his disguise even if he was sure he was never going to get the grime off him. Forrest went on for about five minutes, sounding defensive. With the arrogance of the two Vucan voices, it was no wonder.

He gave it another hour after they left, to be sure, and then snuck out to stretch his legs –

Something didn't smell right.

He took a nice deep breath. Well, it smelled right – wonderful even. Sandalwood and oranges. Just not something he'd ever smelled in an engine room before.

He'd only ever smelled that combo once before. On _that_ night.

From Miss Pointed Ears Under That Cowl.

Did that mean she'd been here? Right here, in this engine room? Steps away from where he'd been hidden?

If only he'd still been Chief Engineer, he would have been able to guide the tour. He would have met her. Had a chance to at least learn her name, what she did – maybe even get some shred of contact information -

But he wasn't Chief Engineer. He was just another lowly manual laborer.

And that meant that no matter how close she'd been, she was way out of his reach.


	2. Soval's Dilemma

He stared into the flame until it became a part of him, and he of it. And yet, even in the meditative state, the awareness of an Awakened and unmated female lingered within Soval of Vulcan. It mattered not that she was yet immature, considerably younger to Awaken than most of their people. It mattered not that she was his daughterkin, the only offspring of his own sister and her deceased mate.

T'Pol had Awakened, and Soval's mind and body responded as his physiology had evolved to do. Perhaps, without the pheromone releases, it would have been a simple matter to repress any latent response – but her releases were strong, and her mind open to the human she would have as her mate.

He considered the matter of this potential pairing, and the certain disapproval of T'Les. She had never desired to meet a human; she would not condone her daughter bonding with one.

However, that was not the immediate concern. T'Pol had Awakened to a human male, and he had yet to devise a method for discovering the identity of the human or ascertaining whether T'Pol was aware of what had occurred or prepared for the challenges that awaited her.

How did humans deal with such situations? Did they find themselves in such circumstances? He had never considered their mating practices, as these were not something Vulcans chose to disclose. It was not until his daughterkin had returned to the Consulate at a run, entering her room through the open windows he'd hoped she would avail herself of and broadcasting the scent of her Awakening, that the matter of how humans chose their mates became relevant.

Soval had scented the human male beyond the gate, but her right to privacy precluded him attempting to discover the identity of the man who had Awakened her. Perhaps his efforts to learn more of humans had been ill-considered, where she was concerned.

He had followed her that night, seen that she dealt with the five inebriated humans who had accosted her. Had she had less training, she might have been harmed or violated.

Had she been, by her human Intended?

That was a consideration he hadn't taken into account, when he assigned her an outer room with tall windows which would make egress possible, and, in her case, quite probable.

However, she had been quite efficient with the humans who had accosted her. Certainly, if the human in the restaurant had attempted sexual contact, she would have been able to halt the effort.

But would she have?

Soval didn't know and couldn't ask her. He had returned later to the bookseller where she had shopped, but the woman who ran the establishment would say nothing of the young woman who had recently left.

He had lingered, exploring the shop's inventory – and found the extensive section on human sexuality. A careful examination had indicated one place where a gap existed between volumes. The shop was densely stocked but meticulously kept. The gap very likely indicated that the book T'Pol had procured had come from that location.

He didn't need to know anything more about the specific volume to know that it dealt with human sexuality. A wise choice, for a young Vulcan woman seeking information. There would be no record in the computer systems as she explored.

Was her intent to mate with the human?

Was it possible for her to do so, if that was her intention?

Was the human a man of principle, or did he have more in common with the men she had dispatched before going to the dining establishment where she had presumably encountered him?

Without knowing the identity of the human, Soval had no means of investigating him. Until the tour of the Warp Five engine being installed in the prototype deep space vessel, he had known nothing more than that the man was human, and that he had sensed T'Pol well enough to follow her back to the Consulate. Were human males capable of scenting the pheromone release and responding to it?

In what manner would a human respond?

Now, he had some indication of whom the man might be. He would certainly be someone assigned to duty in the area of the engine itself.

However, it was most certainly a breach of T'Pol's privacy, and the human male's, to seek more than this.

Soval stared into the flame, considering whether the breach of privacy was more damaging a prospect than allowing a Vulcan too young when Awakened to simply follow her own instincts.


	3. Friday Afternoon

Sometimes, it only takes one action to change everything – or to spoil what had seemed to be an iron-clad alibi. So it was on that Friday afternoon, as one man's cover story was about to blow up beyond saving, leaving three other people to either twist the knife, try to put the pieces back into something that might pass muster, or to question whether they knew their best friend at all…

The door signal buzzed just as Jon was coming out of the shower. "Perfect timing," he muttered, as he tossed on his robe, threw a towel around his shoulders. Max Forrest had already kept him late today, to talk about the Vulcans' tour of the engine room yesterday and hint more strongly than ever that maybe it was time for him to pick another Chief Engineer.

And now, he was going to be late, just because Trip's sister Elizabeth, who seemed to be here a hell of a lot more often than Trip was, had lost her pass code for the third time in the nine days she'd been in San Francisco. If she wasn't also a hell of a cook - 

The woman on the other side of the door hadn't had a very good week at all, and that was the understatement of the century. All of her machinations to get Trip Tucker back on her hooks had failed. She'd done everything she could to get a rise out of him at that ridiculous jazz club of his, but he'd obviously already decided that that damned mystery woman of his was a better place to put his attention.

And now, she couldn't even find him. If she could, maybe he'd let her explain – not that she had any intention of telling him the truth. Oh, no. He wasn't the type to understand about Maurice, and the thing they'd had for the last few years. It wasn't cheating, because she and Trip had never said they were exclusive, and she'd known Maurice twice as long as Trip. But he wasn't going to see it that way, she just knew it.

But she'd gone over her story again and again, and it was perfect. And she'd finally found out he was staying with his friend Jon because he'd gotten into some kind of trouble.

Of course, if this friend of his didn't open the door -

"Come on in!" Jon called out from his room. Better if he took the time to get dressed and think through what he was going to say. He didn't want to snap at Trip's kid sister, but he also didn't know exactly why she was staying here in the first place. Sure, Trip was sharing "Natalie from Pensacola's" hotel bed these days, but why couldn't Lizzie Tucker get a room of her own?

"Uh, hello?" Elizabeth came up the hall to see a beautiful woman at Jon's door. She hadn't known he was with anyone – or, if he was, it seemed like maybe he was a lot more into that linguist he'd gone to see in Brazil. His eyes had lit up when he mentioned her, but he'd also said she was Japanese, and this woman was blonde.

"Hello." The woman half-turned her head to study Liz, then went back to the door. "This thing made some kind of signal, but I don't know how it works." 

Well, that meant that Jon was asking her in – or, a hell of a lot less likely, Trip was. But her brother wasn't likely to be here. He'd let Jon think he was holed up with a girlfriend, but she knew better. When things went south for Trip, he didn't go looking for love. He went looking for something to fix, and he always had. "An engineer all the way down to his toenails," Dad had always said. And Mom had invented a name for the types of things he did when something was bothering him. "Tripification."

"Can you help me with this?" The woman's tone was peevish, and Liz realized she'd been staring at her while she thought this through the way Trip had taught her when she was barely more than a baby.

"Sure – sorry. I was distracted." She gave her best Tucker grin, and stepped up to let the other woman in, happy she'd finally memorized the passcode.

Natalie stepped inside when the door opened, looking around for the one person she wanted to see – and not seeing him.

Jon came out of his room, still toweling his hair. Lizzie wouldn't care if he was in his leisure clothes. "Lizzie, you've got to get a handle on that passcode. What's going to happen if you forget it when I'm not – " Lizzie was there, but so was another woman – a well-dressed, slender blonde. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you brought home a friend." Damn. Now he'd called his place her home, which was going to make it a hell of a lot harder to ask her to find another place to stay.

"I don't know her. I'm Natalie, and I'm here to see Trip."

"So you're the famous Natalie from Pensacola? I thought Trip was with you."

"I haven't seen him in –" The woman paused, and changed course. "In a week."

"Oh, damn." Elizabeth wished she was the engineer right now, so she could think of a way to give Trip another alibi or shore up this one. But her brain worked better in blueprints.

Jon Archer, though, had good instincts. He looked at Natalie, then stared straight at Elizabeth. "I have a feeling there's someone here who knows a lot more about Trip's whereabouts than either one of us. Spill it, Elizabeth."

Natalie looked at the other woman – competition? How many women was Trip seeing, anyway? This one turned bright red, and mumbled something unintelligible.

"What's that?" asked the man with the towel around his neck.

"I'm not sure."

"Elizabeth."

"Look in your Engine Room." 


	4. I Work Here Now

Captain Jonathan Archer set the scanner to highest detection rating and mute before he slipped into the Engine room through the service hatch. He had a stowaway, and past experience had taught him well that this particular freeloader was incredibly resourceful.

Not to mention incredibly prone to getting himself into one damned predicament after another.

But he wasn't going to drag Jon down with him. Whatever the hell game Charles "My Friends Call Me Trip" Tucker the Third was playing here, Jon was about to put an end to it.

He eased the hatch door closed, not at all sure Trip wouldn't hear it if he let it go. Still a click that sounded way too loud as it echoed and ricocheted around the still mostly empty two-story room. He held his breath, half expecting Trip to dart from his hiding place.

Instead, he heard a magnified snore. It was better than the scanner at telling him where his renegade former-and-hopefully-future Chief Engineer was.

He slipped down a level and moved cautiously toward the partial housing over the silent engine, thankful he'd thought to change into the Japanese slippers. His boots would've made a hell of a lot more racket.

But Trip was still snoring when Jon got to his hideaway, one bare foot stuck out almost past the edge of the housing. That foot said he wasn't just taking a nap; he'd made himself right at home here. The smell said that he hadn't thought to find a shower lately.

Jon reached in and grabbed the leg above the ankle, and tried to haul Trip out of his cocoon. But the damned fool was jammed in tight, and he still hadn't woken up.

Jon was going to have to go in after him. And Trip was going to be sorry he had.

He crawled in, heading up a bare leg and suddenly hoping Trip hadn't compounded the trouble he was in by sleeping in the nude. "Commander Tucker, report!" he snapped, to cover the discomfort.

"Wha-" Trip blinked and rolled. He waited for Trip to settle again, thankful when he caught a glimpse of blue at his waist. At least he had his underwear on.

Jon wriggled up until he could put his face down near Trip's ear, and said, good and loud,"Commander. Tucker. Report."

"Oh shit." Trip tried to jump up, but instead knocked Jon back against the engine housing hard enough that he was going to have a bruise. He added that to his list of grievances as Trip scrambled to a semi-upright position, blinking. "I was sleeping, sir."

"I can see that." Jon didn't rub his head. He was the Captain, after all. "At attention, Commander."

"Attention?"

"You heard me."

"Uh…"

"Now, Commander."

"All right." Trip muttered something under his breath that sounded like "more than he bargained for," but Jon let that go, since the engineer was moving.

He backed up and let Trip crawl out, mostly so he could keep his own dignity, and so Trip would be standing there on the deck plating In his underwear and bare feet, at attention.

Only, when he got himself out of Trip's little nest, he saw that Trip was at attention in more ways than one. "Explain yourself, Commander."

"I work here."

"Not anymore. But that's not what I meant. Explain your – condition." He aimed a hand in the general direction of Trip's middle.

"Well, you're the one who said 'attention.'"

"Commander – and that may be a temporary title – I am not in the mood for jokes."

"Neither 'm I. Go back on duty in two hours. Was only going to get three hours' sleep…first I've had since…. never mind. Don't remember."

Jon decided to let him change the subject. He was wobbling a little, and his eyes were deeply shadowed. More, he was filthy. There were more important things to get to the bottom of. "What do you mean, you go back on duty."

"I told you. I work here."

"You were relieved of duty pending your hearing."

"I know. Not an engineer anymore. Just another menial laborer."

"You said you were staying with –"

"I know what I said. I lied, okay?" Trip sounded angry, but mostly he just looked – defeated.

Jon let that go, too. "So you work here. You know what's going to happen when Starfleet figures out that you lied about your name? You're going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble, Trip."

"I didn't." He looked like he was trying like hell to stay at attention, but his shoulders were slumped, and he was swaying.

"Didn't what?"

"Lie about my name. I gave it to them straight – maybe a little sideways, but straight. Told them I was Chuck Tucker. I think Grandpa Chuck would approve."

"Well, I don't. Trip, you're already in a hell of a lot of trouble."

"So what's a little more. They've already decided that I'm guilty. How they think I did it, I don't know. But they've decided, and I'm done. No chance I'll ever be the Chief Engineer now. So I did what I could to be sure I at least get to be a tiny little part of your mission."

"Trip, you're playing with fire –"

"Don't you think I know that?!" It was like an explosion, and his voice cracked on the last word. "Cap'n – Jon – all I've ever wanted since I was a little kid was to be an engineer on a Warp Five ship. Now, because of some damned "anonymous eye-witness" to something I didn't even do, I can kiss that dream, and everything I've done to get there, goodbye. At least let me have this. Don't tell anyone. I promise I'll be off the ship before you launch…just let me have this."  
By the time he got to the end of it, he was sobbing, and Jon did the only thing he could do. He pulled Trip in for a hug, and sank down on the deck plating with him.

"If there's anything I can do, Trip – I'm going to do it."

But he wasn't sure Trip could even hear him over his heartbreak. 


	5. Personal Logic

Discordant.

And yet, not.

It had been true of the music. And the room, with its soothing red walls and agitating congregation of humans.

It was true of the blue-eyed man called Trip, and his presence in her mind. He lingered, disturbing other thoughts, and yet, somehow -

His presence was discordant and soothing. It suggested a future other than that she had been prepared for her entire life. Education. Experience. Eventually, take her betrothed mate and begin a family.

Discordant, to consider anything other. And yet, soothing. It was a paradox.

Or perhaps, a deeper form of personal logic.


	6. One Distressed Dude

"Come on, Trip. It can't be all that bad. At least Jon let you come home."

"Yeah, but he dragged me out of the Engine Room, and now my own personal Clingy MacGuffin knows right where to find me." He sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair. It was still dirty, and stood up in spikes Liz would have found comical if her big brother weren't so despondent.

He needed cheering up, and what he'd said gave her an idea.

"Clingy MacGuffin, eh? I though she was the woman of your dream."

"You know me better than that, Lizzie. When have I ever been into women who made it too easy. Oh, no. Natalie was fun, and she reminded me of home – but she's not the woman who won't let me get a night's sleep."

"Oh, do tell. Who is this mystery woman of yours – and where did you meet her? No, don't tell me; let me guess. Her name is Snow White, and you met her in the forest and saved her at the last second from eating a poisoned apple."

"Well, she did enjoy the hell out of a plum …" Trip gave her a faint little smile. Good. At least he was trying.

"And you ticked off a few of her housemates by swooping in, and you had to knock them out with a spell, and that's why they were napping in the street."

"Don't you know me better than that, Lizzie?"

"Of course I do. But it doesn't seem that Starfleet does. So play along. Maybe we'll figure something out – or at least give you a little respite."

"All right, Lizzie. I'll play along. I didn't meet her in the woods. Honestly, I didn't 'meet' her at all, per se, and I don't know her name, but I'm sure it's not Snow White."

"So, if your Mystery Lady isn't Snow White; maybe her name was Ella and her day job is to be the scullery maid and chimney sweep at her wicked stepmother's house while her father remains utterly oblivious. Her fairy godmother helped her get to the ball in a fancy gown -"

"Well, it was a jazz club, not a ball. And she wasn't wearing anything fancy. She had a cloak with a cowl, and leggings, and it all fit her so she looked like a cross between a rapier, a dancer, and a hunting cat. And, Lizzie – I didn't need to see the pointed ears under that cowl to know she was a Vulcan – the most beautiful Vulcan I've ever seen in my life." He paused, and when he looked up at Lizzie, his eyes were intense. "And the best-smelling, too. I dream about the way she smells, Lizzie."

"Ahhh. Her smell is the spell." She giggled a little; the bourbon they were sharing was making her a little silly. She didn't usually drink.

"Her smell is a hell of a spell." Trip didn't drink all that often either, and he also didn't look like he'd had much sleep at all since whatever had happened, happened. But he looked totally serious. "Can't believe I smelled her again in the Engine Room two days ago, and I missed her because I took a couple of hours to do something as useless as _sleep_."

"So…we've got a bona fide Alien Fair Folk Cat Who Came Back." If they were going to play Fairy Tale Tropes, and it got Trip out of his funk, she was going to play with all she had. She had a feeling Trip needed this, and she knew she did.

"I guess you could call her that. There was sure as hell something happening between us that I'm not even going to try to explain, but then Natalie showed up."

"Your own personal Clingy MacGuffin. Hmmm… do you think maybe she was sent by the Big Bad Wolf?"

"Well, that would be Orin Price-Thomas – but he was already gone by then. And I don't think he has a clue who Natalie is. He was too busy bashing me and mistreating Lara to ask what her name was."

"So there is a Big Bad Wolf in this story. Is there also a Little Red Riding Hood? Would that be your Lady of the Smelly Spell? Is she a damsel in distress?"

"Well, at first, she looked enchanted by the music….and maybe, just maybe, by me, too. I was sure as hell enchanted by her."

"And then what happened?" Lizzie felt like he was coming to the meat of the story now, or as much of it as he was likely to give, anyway.

Natalie acted like The Fool – and not the good kind, but one maybe in cahoots with The Damned Big Bad Wolf. And Miss Pointed Ears Under That Cowl –" Trip stopped, and Liz could tell he was editing out part of the story. Well, at least he was talking, and it was his story. She let it go. "She ran out, fast. And I never found out why she was there, or her name, or – anything but that she ran to the corner by my old place across from the Consulate and lost the pear – "

"Which probably had an evil spell on it – "

"Whatever. And then she said something to me in what I assume was Vulcan. The church bells – "

"Struck midnight?"

"I really don't even remember, Lizzie. I was too busy getting lost in her eyes. She has the most gorgeous, eloquent hazel eyes…" He trailed off.

"And then what happened?"

"She disappeared into the Consulate like a scared key deer, and I stood there all night like an idiot who got a love potion or something." Trip didn't seem to even realize he was mixing analogies. "And I can't stop thinking about her, Lizzie, or dreaming about her, but they put me off the ship, I'm trapped in this dungeon I used to call home, and I'm probably never even going to see her again."

He didn't say it out loud, but his eyes made it plain as day. This was the woman he was supposed to be with, and Trip Tucker was one Distressed Dude.


	7. Dreamwalking

T'Pol was walking again, troubled by the limitations of the fabric and the fog. Sight was restricted, and sounds muffled and distorted by the heavy, moist Terran air. She had been concerned before her illicit departure, as she had no reason to be prescribed the nasal numbing agent typically given to those traveling among humans –

"Nasal numbing agent?! Why the hell would you need something like that?"

The voice had not entered her life until after the altercation to come, which logically meant that she was dreaming. Still, she had wished to respond to this particular Terran. There had been no opportunity in reality, but here, in dreams, perhaps –

"You gonna think about whether to answer me until you wake up, pretty lady, or just do it? And how about telling me about this 'altercation' you're remembering, while you're at it?"

"I am dreaming. Any answer I would give would be only to myself."

"And yet you answered me. Not very logical of you –"

"I assure you –"

"Don't bother. I like that you're not very logical about things like jazz clubs, dreams – and me. So, how about it? We're talking anyway, so why not answer my questions?"

"Humans have an odor that is unpleasant to Vulcans."

"You think we stink?"

"I find your personal scent –"

"What?"

"Pleasing."

"That so? Well, I like yours, too. Like sandalwood incense in an orange grove. But don't think I forgot about this 'altercation' of yours, pretty lady."

Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised that this man who had followed her back to the Consulate was persistent in this, as well. "I was approached by five inebriated human males. When I attempted to circumvent them, they grew forceful. It was necessary to neutralize the threat they posed."

"'Neutralize the threat?' What exactly do you mean by that?"

T'Pol considered, then opened the memory to him. It was only a dream; there was no breach of protocol in sharing what had happened in this manner. More, it was far more detailed than any description she could give verbally.

He shared the experience with her, then was silent for a moment. "I'll be damned," he said, at last. "All this time I've been trying to figure out who really did it, and it was you. Not that I blame you. I hate to think what would've happened if you didn't do what you did, but –"

"I believe their intent was to engage in sexual activity with me, and it didn't matter whether I was willing to participate."

"Wasn't sure you picked up on that. I'm glad you did, though – if you're going to be walking around the streets of San Francisco late at night, it's good that you know not everyone you meet is going to use their manners – especially when they've had a few too many. Still, you taking those drunken lechers out means I have a hell of a problem."

"How so?"

"They said I did it. Not that I'm capable of that, and even if by some fluke I got lucky, no way could I have done it with your finesse. They must've wanted to cover for the fact that a woman took them out because they were planning to rape her. But they've got an eye-witness, and I don't even have an alibi. I lost my job over this and might even end up in the stockade."

T'Pol woke suddenly and blinked until her eyes adjusted.

It had only been a dream.

But, if it was, why did it seem more vivid than the last several days?

And if it was not, if it was something more, was she responsible?


	8. The Architecture of a Promise

"…and might even end up in the stockade!"

Elizabeth listened to her brother's drunken sleep-muttering get distinctly clear, then fade back into gibberish, wishing to hell she knew some way to ease his torment. If she could just make Starfleet see him the way she did, there would be no problem. Sure, he was a bit rough around the edges and impulsive. Not the buttoned-down type his friend Jon Archer was, by a long shot.

But that was his gift in so many ways.

Who wanted a buttoned-down engineer who always did things by the book, anyway?

But she knew the answer to that question. She'd been getting hints of it in letters and chats with Trip for over ten years now.

Starfleet wanted that kind of engineer, or at least they thought they did. She was damned willing to bet, though, that there was a reason Trip had survived so long even though he wasn't that kind of engineer, or that kind of man.

He got things done.

Once he put his mind to something, it was going to get Tripified. Figured out, fixed, made better. Like the way he'd learned how to help her when she had night terrors –

"No – won't tell anyone it was you. Don't want you getting in trouble to save my sorry ass."

He rolled onto his belly and mashed his face in the arm of the couch where he'd finally passed out. But those words made her wonder.

She had a lifetime of experience none of the Starfleet brass, as he called them, or even Jon Archer, had. She'd been Trip's little sister for as long as she'd been alive, and other than him fixing things, the one thing that had always been constant was that he was her own personal hero – even, when she got to be a teenager, when she didn't always want him to be. It was like it was just part of him he couldn't turn off.

"No use arguin' about it. Not gonna tell."

It was muffled by the upholstery, and that might not be exact, but it was close enough for Elizabeth Tucker. Maybe he was just dreaming, but maybe not. They'd talked about their dreams since they were kids, and she knew that Trip worked things out while he was asleep, the same way she did.

But did that mean he knew who had attacked those five men, and was protecting that person even though it might cost him his career? And, if so, why?

He'd been insistent that he'd never seen the men. "Yes, all right? I stepped outside to call my date, because she was running late and I didn't want to make that call in front of – anyone." That's what he'd said when Jon had questioned him about it, but Lizzie had known by that little pause that there was something or someone else that kept him from calling from inside the club, and that he wasn't going to talk about that, either.

Were the two things connected?

"Look, I never saw any men out there – didn't see anyone out there. It was a Tuesday night, damn it. The whole reason for going on a Tuesday is that it's usually pretty damned quiet, and you can actually have a conversation. Besides, if I'd seen five unconscious men lying in the street, don't you think I'd call someone about that?"

"Not if you're the one who made them unconscious," Jon had said, and Lizzie had had to stick her tongue in her cheek to keep from blurting out that Jonathan Archer sure as hell wasn't a very good friend if he didn't know Trip better than that. The men had claimed their pockets had been picked – but Trip had never been a thief, and he got along with pretty much everybody, except maybe that ex of his and his old neighbor's lover.

"No logic in arguing. Not tellin', and that's that. Damn stubborn Vulcan!"

Well, to be honest, Trip didn't get along well with Vulcans, either. But that wasn't even close to unique.

It wasn't surprising he'd be arguing with one in his sleep – but if he was protecting a Vulcan somehow by not talking, that would be something.

Wait…. There _was_ something. Wasn't there?

She looked sourly at the almost-empty bourbon bottle. She'd poured twice as much for Trip as for herself, figuring he needed relief and sleep, and she needed to be his hero for a change. But she'd still had more than enough to make the impromptu game of Fairy Tale Tropes blurry and indistinct in her mind.

But she was almost sure Trip had said something about Snow White being a Vulcan….

Hadn't he?

She tried thinking back, but it wasn't working very well. She'd mostly been trying to distract him into drinking more than he usually would, to put him to sleep. But then she'd had this idea that maybe they could figure this out by using their ridiculous childhood game to send his engineer's mind in different directions than the circles he seemed to have been going in.

"I don't care how much you glare. I. Am. Not. Telling. Anyone. It. Was. You." Trip sat up suddenly, stared at her without seeing her. "I thought she looked like a rapier, a dancer, and a hunting cat all wrapped up in one person, remember? Damn. I was right. She took out five men without leaving a mark on them or herself. That cowl didn't even slip."

"Who took out five men, Trip? The Vulcan woman? The one with the gorgeous hazel eyes who smelled so good?" She was playing a hunch and her own foggy maybe-memories.

Her brother groaned, blinked a couple of times, then put his head in his hands. "You can't say anything to anyone about her, Elizabeth."

"Trip, if she did it and it can save you with Starfl –"

"It was a damned dream, Elizabeth." He put his hands down, and stared at her with his eyes somehow at full intensity even though they were only half open. "Probably had more to do with all that bourbon you thought you were tricking me into pouring into myself than with reality." He waved toward the bottle vaguely. "But damn, was she a sight in that dream. It was like a dance, and she didn't even hurt them – not a one. She just touched their shoulders and they dropped. Five of them, Lizzie. They didn't even have time to react." His voice had gone admiring; he was definitely the kind of man who liked strong women.

"How could she – how could anyone – do that?"

"It was a dream. That's how."

"But – if there was a Vulcan woman in the club that night…"

He smiled ridiculously. "There definitely was. Most amazing Vulcan Surprise Package I've ever seen. Wouldn't mind unwrapping her to see what's inside, either."

"Trip!"

"Not_ that_ way. Well, okay. Not _just _that way. Something happened with her, Lizzie. I – I can't even begin to explain. Not even gonna try. But she's the kind of woman I'd love to take a lifetime to figure out."

Maybe he couldn't see it, but Elizabeth could. Trip had it bad for this Mystery Vulcan of his – in a way she'd only seen him fall a couple of times.

So she didn't bother to ask him how on Earth he thought he was going to get a Vulcan woman to feel anything remotely like he did. Wouldn't matter, anyway – if he was this far gone, his mind was already working the problem, and she'd only get in his way. Anybody else, and she'd think it was a lost cause from the outset. But Lizzie Tucker knew her brother almost as well as she knew herself, and, if anyone could make an impression on this woman who walked into jazz clubs on Tuesday nights, it was -

"Wait! That's it!" Her brother jumped and winced. "Oh. Sorry, Trip. But I've got an idea, and a question. They might help you figure all this out."

"I'm all for that."

"Okay. You say you dreamed her taking out those five men. But when did she come into the club? Is there any chance she saw something, even if she isn't the superheroine of your dreams? Could we get ahold of her somehow and ask her? Did you find out anything we could use to track her down?"

She could almost feel Trip slam on his inner brakes. "She went into the Consulate, Lizzie. And I got the distinct feeling that maybe being out alone at night is something that might get the lady in trouble. I'm not going to rat her out to save my own skin – even if I could. Especially since she probably doesn't know thing one about any five men knocked out in the street to begin with."

"Maybe not when they were knocked out. But five men, together – that might be memorable. If she saw them, or anyone else that you didn't see, that might be it, Trip. The answer to who did knock them out, which would exonerate you."

"Thanks, Elizabeth. And no thanks, too."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means thanks for believing it wasn't me. I'm not sure anyone else on this whole damned planet is sure about that one, even Jon, who's seen me in a scuffle or two and ought to know better. But no thanks on trying to track the lady down. She was covering her ears, and she was in regular street clothes, not Vulcan robes. Now, might be she just wanted to blend in with us – or it might be she didn't want anyone from the Consulate to catch wind of the fact she left in the first place. I'm not taking the chance it was that." He stopped and frowned, with that remembering look of his. "It was dark, and I can't be sure, but I don't think she went in the front door, either. Seems like maybe she skirted around the side, which really might mean she didn't want to get caught."

"But if you shared – something – like you say, wouldn't she want to help you? Would it be logical to let you pay a price for something you didn't do?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm not going to say a word to anyone about her, Lizzie. And I need you to promise me you aren't going to, either." His jaw was set, but he wasn't the only one who was stubborn. It was a Tucker trait.

"I can't promise you that, Trip. Not if she could get you out of this and back to your life."

"Elizabeth Katherine Tucker, I kept the secret about that boy – what was his name? Do you think Mom and Dad would have let you go to your prom with him if they had any idea what the two of you were getting up to right here in this apartment three weekends in a row?"

He had a point. Even if it wouldn't matter now, Trip had given her the key and covered for her so she could "get it out of the way" before the prom.

"I don't understand why you're doing this, Trip." All he'd ever talked about, from the time they were kids, was that sweet Warp Five engine, and how he was going to be the one to take care of that engine.

"Want to know the truth?" Trip rolled his head back on the back of the couch. "I don't really know, either. Except – what I felt with that Vulcan woman… even though we never talked, never touched, and I don't really know anything about her, there's something that makes me feel like I'm closer to her than any other woman I've ever been interested in. Like I'm going to see her again, someday, and it's all going to click right into place. And Lizzie?"

"Yeah, Trip?"

"I'd rather wreck my Starfleet career than take any chance of ruining that."

There was nothing left for Elizabeth to do. She hated it, but she promised. Trip sighed, slumped against the arm of the couch, and was asleep almost immediately.

She sat for a long time watching him, wondering if he was throwing it all away for a woman he was never going to see again – and if she'd just made the promise that would help him do it.


End file.
